A Whisper of Dragons
by Queen of the Sidhe
Summary: {Book one in The Dragon Wars : Fairies of the Lance} It began as a simple gathering of friends. In the span of one night it became a dash for survival.


Yukino Aguria straightened her aching back with a relieved sigh, flexing her shoulders to ease the stiffness of her cramped muscles. She flung the soaked bar rag into the half full pail and glanced around the empty room.

It was becoming more and more difficult to keep the old inn running. There were great amounts of love and care rubbed into the warm finish of the wood, but even love and care couldn't cover the cracks and splits in the well used tables or prevent a customer from scraping their leg on an occasional splinter. The Inn of the Tiger's Lair was not fancy, par say, like some she'd heard about in Fairy Tail. It was comfortable, though, and felt like home. The living tree in which it had been constructed wrapped its ancient arms around it lovingly, while the walls and beams were crafted around the boughs of the tree with such dedication as to make it impossible to pick out where nature's handiwork left off and man's began. The bar counter seemed to ebb and flow like a polished wave around the wood that supported it. The stained glass in the window panes flashed welcoming patches of bright colour across the room.

The shadows were fading as the sun reached its peak. The Inn of the Tiger's Lair would soon be open for the day's business. Yukino gazed around the room and her lips twitched upwards in satisfaction. The table tops were clean and polished almost to the point of sparkling. All she had left to do was sweep the floor. She began to shove aside the thick wooden benches as Sorano emerged from the kitchen, fragrant steam escaping through the door behind her.

"Should be another fast day—for both the weather and business," she commented, stepping delicately behind the bar. She started to set out tankards and mugs, maintaining a stony silence as she did so.

"I'd prefer the business cooler and the weather warmer," Yukino responded, digging her heels into the floorboards as she tugged on a particularly stubborn bench. "I walked my feet sore yesterday and got little thanks, let alone any tips! Such a gloomy crowd. Everybody on the edge, jumping at the smallest sound. I dropped a mug last night and— I swear—Max drew his sword!"

"Bah!" Sorano sniffed. "Max's a Sabertooth Seeker Guard. Those types are always nervous! You would be too if you had to work for Everlue, that fat—"

"Watch it," Yukino warned her.

Sorano shrugged and blew a few strands of silvery hair out of her eyes. "Unless the Duke can fly now, he won't be listening to us. I'd hear his ugly boots on the stairs before he could hear me." However, Yukino noticed that she lowered her voice before continuing. "The residents of Sabertooth won't put up with much more of this. People disappearing, being dragged off to Mavis-knows-where. It's a hard time." She yawned. "But it is good for business."

"Until he shuts this place down," Yukino mumbled. She snatched the broom and began to sweep furiously.

"Even dukes need to eat and wash the fire and brimstone from their mouths." Sorano said with a rare smirk on her face. "It must be thirsty work, nagging people about the New Gods day in and day out—he's in here nearly every night."

Yukino paused her brisk sweeping to lean against the bar counter. "Sora-nee," she said, her tone unnaturally solemn. "There's other talk too—talk of war. Of armies gathering in the north. And there are these strange, hooded folk in town, lounging around with the Duke, asking questions."

Sorano stared down at the seventeen-year-old girl through half closed, pondering eyelids. The orphaned sisters had only discovered one another very recently and had become incredibly close.

"War. Yeah, right." Sorano examined her fingernails. "There's been talk of war ever since the Tenrou Gap. It's just talk, Yuki. Maybe the Duke invents these wild tales just to scare people into line."

"I'm not sure..." Yukino frowned, trailing off. "I—"

The door creaked open.

Both Yukino and Sorano stiffened in alarm and spun to face the entrance. Neither had heard footsteps come up the stairs, and that was uncanny. The Inn of the Tiger's Lair was built high in the branches of a mighty oak tree, as was every other building in Sabertooth, not including the blacksmith shop. The townsfolk had decided to take to the safety of the trees in the aftermath of the Tenrou Gap. Thus Sabertooth became a tree town, one of the few true wonders left in Fiore. Stable wooden bridges connected the houses and businesses that were perched high above the ground. The Inn of the Tiger's Lair was roughly the largest building in Sabertooth and stood forty feet above the ground. Stairs wound around the oak's wide trunk like creeper vines. As Sorano said, any visitor to the inn would be heard arriving long before they were seen.

But neither of the Aguria sisters had heard the old woman.

She stood hunched on the threshold, leaning heavily on a worn maple staff, and peered around the inn. The tattered hood of her dull grey cloak was drawn over her head, hiding the features of her face in shadow, except for her unnaturally bright eyes.

"Can I help you, obaa-san?" Yukino asked the stranger, casting a worried, fleeting glance at her older sister. Was this old woman a Seeker spy?

"Are you open?" The old woman blinked.

"Well..." Yukino hesitated, not sure of what to do. Sorano used her sister's unsure silence to brush past her, the former's customer façade already fully functional.

"Certainly," she said, a painfully broad smile plastered onto her pale face. "Come right on in. Yuki, find our guest a chair. She must be tired after climbing for so long."

"Climb?" Scratching her covered head, her tone confused, the old woman glanced back out the doorway. "Oh, yes. The climb. How could I forget? Such a great many stairs..."

She staggered inside, making a playful swipe at Yukino when she tried to dart in to assist. "Get along with your work, young'un. I'm perfectly capable of finding my own chair."

Yukino shrugged and reached for her broom, which was propped against a barstool. Keeping her eyes glued warily to the old woman, she started to sweep.

She stood in the center of the inn, staring around as though memorizing the exact location and position of each table and chair in the room. The main room was large and oval shaped, snuggling around the trunk of the oak. The tree's smaller limbs assisted the floor and ceiling. She gazed with interest in her shining eyes at the fireplace, which was set about three-quarters of the way back into the room. The only metalwork in the inn, it was obviously crafted by skillful hands to appear to be part of the tree, winding smoothly into the branches above. A bin next to the side of the fireplace was stacked high with jagged logs of birch and pine brought down from the mountains. No decent resident of Sabertooth would entertain the thought of burning wood from their own noble trees. There was a sneaky back route out through the kitchen; it was a good forty foot drop, but an eccentric few of their customers preferred this exit instead. So, apparently, did the old woman.

She muttered in a satisfied tone to herself as her eyes darted from one area to another. Then, to Yukino's utter astonishment, she suddenly dropped her staff to the floor, hitched up the baggy sleeves of her cloak, and began to rearrange the furniture!

Yukino stopped sweeping and leaned an elbow on the broom handle. "What are you doing? That table's always been there!"

A long, narrow table stood soundly in the middle of the room. The old woman hauled it noisily across the floorboards and pushed it up against the trunk, directly across from the fireplace.

"There," she muttered, stepping back to criticize her handiwork. "S'posed to be closer to the firepit. Now bring over two more chairs. Need six around here."

Yukino turned to Sorano to see how she was taking this. Her sister's face had darkened and she seemed on the verge of protesting, only to be interrupted by a shriek from the direction of the kitchen. The scent of burning wafted through the cracks under the kitchen door. Sorano seemed pleased to have this distraction and strode away, eager to help the frightened cook deal with the small fire.

"She's harmless," her sister hissed as she passed Yukino. "Let her do what she wants—within reason. Maybe she's throwing a party."

Yukino sighed heavily and lifted two chairs over to the old woman, as requested. The woman pointed and she set them where indicated.

"Now," the old woman ordered, glancing around sharply. "Bring two more chairs—comfortable ones, mind you—over here. Put them next to the firepit, in this shadowy corner."

"'Tisn't shadowy," Yukino protested, looking briefly at the aforementioned corner. "It's in full sunlight!"

"Ah, it is, isn't it?"—the old woman's eyes narrowed—"but it will be shadowy come tonight. When the fire's been lit..."

Yukino felt a foreboding chill run down her spine, causing her to shiver. "I-I suppose so..."

"Bring the chairs, like a good young'un. And I want one, right here." The old woman gestured to a spot in front of the fireplace. "For me."

"Are you hosting a party, obaa-san?" Yukino asked to take her mind off the uncanniness. She grabbed the oldest, most comfortable chair in the inn and pulled it to the desired spot.

"A party?" The idea seemed to strike the old woman as amusing. "Yes, young'un. It will be a party that the likes of Fiore has not seen since the Tenrou Gap! Be ready, Yukino Aguria. Be ready!"

She patted the teenager's shoulder, still wheezing with mirth, then turned and lowered herself into the chair.

"A mug of ale," she ordered.

Yukino did as she requested. It wasn't until after she had brought the old woman her drink and returned to sweeping the floor that she stopped up short, suddenly wondering how she knew her name.


End file.
